


Red beard

by violent_woman66



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 18:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_woman66/pseuds/violent_woman66
Summary: A gun, a text and a plastic prison.





	Red beard

John left the flat as Sherlock launched into yet another speech about the idiocy of the average person buying a car, knowing he would have time to pop to the store to pick up basic groceries, get back and make a simple dinner before Sherlock finished speaking. What he didn't count on was the man whom had hit just the wrong side of desperate going to the same store, but with a loaded gun. Without thinking he had tried to wrestle the gun away when it had been pointed at a teenage boy that had been trying to buy smokes without the appropriate ID and as it happened the gunman's hand clenched and the gun had gone off, the light blue of his t-shirt blossoming with deep crimson . John died before the ambulance had even stopped outside.

 

Greg Lestarde sat at his desk staring at the small disposable phone cradled softly in his hand wishing with all his being that he did not have to send the one word text to the only number programmed into it. The small display simply read "Redbeard".  
The reply was nearly instant "Who?"  
"John" that simple four letter reply took nearly five minutes for Lestrade to type and send with shaking fingers slowed with grief.  
With the soft beep signalling the start of a plan setup long ago Greg let the long overdue tears flow. John Watson was dead and the survival of Sherlock Holmes was entirely up to the ever elusive Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock had been sitting in his arm chair talking at John when Mrs Hudson had let in a morose Detective Lestared (it was then that he finally notice Watson had in fact not been there for some time). "It's John."... "was a robbery".. "caught the shooter"... "So sorry Sherlock."... "called your brother" This was one of the few times Sherlock couldn't recall every detail, the moment the detective walked in following a softly crying Mrs Hudson Sherlock knew. He vaguely remembered smashing cups, then his brother walked in and he might have been holding a needle, then everything went black (evidently a sedative). That was how he woke up in a plastic cell inside an old barn outside London.

 

Sherlock threw himself against the hardened plastic of his temporary prison. Not even the once great Sherlock Holmes knew what he wanted anymore. The last of the two people that could make him human sat quietly just out of reach dressed in her muted mourning clothes. The funeral had been that day and all Sherlock had been able to do was crash against the transparent walls of the cell his brother had thrown him, hoping against hope to get out and find oblivion in a needle or handful of pills.

His friend was gone and his annoying brother was not going to let him disappear into a haze of drugs, so Sherlock was just going to have to wait for his pain to pass and to be released from his transparent prison. Once again the puzzles would take him and he would continued on, he would be changed but he would continue on as he did before John Watson had shaped him into something new. Always from that point on a piece of him would be missing, taken way by a man on the wrong side of desperate.


End file.
